next chapter is in the works… emphasis on in the works because it is moving at the speed of a deeply unmotivated snail
i just survived a psychophysics midterm so currently i am battling things like signal detection theory by day and levi ackerman by night, which is honestly not a fair fight on either side
writing is happening, just slowly and with occasional existential pauses to question perception, reality, and my life choices
thank you for being patient with me <3 i promise i’m not abandoning this fic, i’m just being academically harassed
I literally was itching for a levi x reader Pacific Rim au and literally when I found your first chapter I was HOOKED. Ur amazing for feeding this very niche subcategory that I wanted and I will wait however long it takes to read more. Super kudos for u 💙💙
My brain will not be quiet about the possibilities the story could spiral into and now I'm losing sleep. But I love how hanji is written!! I feel like having them as a best friend would soothe my soul and wreck chaos upon my life at the same time. That is probably how levi feels now that I think about it.
thank you for reading the fic! xx
i did not think i was feeding a niche subcategory i thought i was just screaming into the void in high definition.
and yes. hange is 100% that friend who will soothe your soul but also drag you into morally questionable experiments
i have so many ideas i cant wait to share. my fic document has a separate page that is just them violently existing in all caps and excessive exclamation marks like a containment breach waiting to happen.
anyway i’m so glad you’re enjoying it <3 more is coming (slowly, painfully, like all good suffering)
When humanity stood on the edge of extinction, they built monsters to fight monsters.
Three years ago, you survived a Kaiju attack that should have killed you. Your co-pilot didn't.
Three years later, the Jaeger program is dying. Pilots are scarce, the Kaiju are evolving, and the world is running out of time. When Erwin Smith, Marshal of the Pan Pacific Defense Corps, calls you back to the Shatterdome, the message is clear: humanity needs every weapon it has left.
You must return to the battlefield and step into a Jaeger once more.
Returning means stepping back into the cockpit of Striker Eureka, facing the memories you tried to bury, and trusting someone new with the most dangerous thing, your mind.
There's only one problem. Jaegers require two pilots.
You have to work with a co-pilot you cannot trust and absolutely do not want in your head, a pair of brilliant scientists, and a Marshal of the Pan Pacific Defense Corps.
The world expects you to be a hero, but as alien titans emerge from the Breach, every choice carries weight and every battle leaves a scar, and some ghosts refuse to stay buried.
Chapter I. The Breach: Emotionally constipated decomissioned pilot (aka you) gets shoved back into a giant robot, pretends she is totally fine (she is not) and meets a potential co-pilot she absolutely does not want in her head. Hange is a manic scientist and Erwin a master manipulator. Since when were kids allowed to pilot robotic killing machines? No one knows.
Chapter II. The Weight: Emotionally empty ex-pilot (aka you) steals emotional stability from a jacket, and gets dragged around by Hange (who steals your bagel too). You beat everyone in training just to prove you’re still That Pilot™, and then completely flop a Drift test. Existential crisis? Yes. Some short guy calls you lucky and annoying. You hate him instantly.
Author's note: oh hey. you’re still here?? concerning. anyway chapter 2 is out. yay (crowd goes mild). this took approximately 700 years to write and at least 50 life events + 3 personality changes happened in between paragraphs, so if something doesn’t match… no it does. don’t worry about it. every part was written two weeks apart like a very unstable relay race but somehow it formed a chapter. against all odds. against my will. there was no proofreading. no beta. we die like—
but it’s here!! enjoy xx
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Chapter II. The Weight
Word Count: 10.3k
Chapter summary: Emotionally empty ex-pilot (aka you) steals emotional stability from a jacket, and gets dragged around by Hange (who steals your bagel too). You beat everyone in training just to prove you’re still That Pilot™, and then completely flop a Drift test. Existential crisis? Yes. Some short guy calls you lucky and annoying. You hate him instantly.
AKA: Denial is a coping mechanism and you’re very good at it
TFTH Masterlist. Chapter I. Chapter II.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The world consists of two types of people. Those who dream and those who don't. You've always been the former. At least, until the incident.
You expected to have nightmares. Rain. Untamable waves. The Conn-Pod shaking. The sound of metal giving in, making way for the inhumanly large sharp teeth. The look in her eyes. The sound of her last breath. The feeling of her last heartbeat in your own chest.
Your dreams remained empty. Silent. A heavy, cold wall of black. Peaceful, almost. Peace you never asked for. So peaceful it hurts, scorching whatever is left of your soul.
You did not deserve the peace that came with the blankness. You longed to wake up in the middle of the night in tears, with cold sweat dripping down your skin, your body trembling and your heart aching.
Instead, you wake up with a calm heart. Sixty beats per minute.
You know.
You counted.
Unable to grieve, even in sleep. Is it better to hurt throughout the night and wake up remembering what you lost, what you fight for and what you’ll live for or sleep contently, without the pleasure to just simply hurt and be.
Humans dream. Humans have nightmares. You don’t.
Sometimes you wonder if your lack of dreams has stripped you of your humanity. You wouldn’t be surprised if it did. You hadn’t felt human in a really long time.
You remember the last time you dreamt. You don’t remember the dream, just the feeling of dreaming, which you miss just as much. It was the morning before the Shiganshina attack. You remember waking up, feeling your partner's presence on the bed above you. You remember feeling content. You had a good feeling about that day.
It wasn’t long before the alarms sounded.
It seems that, in your last moments together in the drift, along with a part of your soul she took your dreams. You chuckled at the thought. At her selfishness. She took a part of you to her death, quenching her own loneliness but damning you to it. Empty.
Empty. Not hollow. Hollow suggests there is a shape left behind. An outline waiting to be whole again, a flicker of hope waiting for a new dawn.
For you there was no hope waiting to be let out at the bottom of Pandora's box. For you, the box came without hope. Only the dark.
You were utterly empty.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Your dreamless sleep was interrupted by three loud knocks. The sound echoing through the room. You rolled around, staring at the empty bed above you. Your eyes moved to the steel closet across the room. You didn’t see much. The lights were off. You preferred dark over the blinding fluorescent lights of the Shatterdome.
Your heart continued to beat calmly, sixty beats per minute. What for? You didn’t know. The cold sheets wrapped around your warm body. Warmth. Proof you were still alive. Still breathing, even after everything.
You groaned as you got out of bed. Silently, you made your way to the heavy metal door.
Hange’s eyes lit up at the sight of you, their glasses askew and their hand still raised, ready for more knocking. They grinned, fixing the glasses on their face and pushing past you, bursting into your room.
They turned the lights on, blinding you. The beaming lights made your room look even emptier.
“Well, good morning to you too Sweetheart!” they said cheerfully, glancing around your room. You yawned in response. “It sure is cosy in here, huh? Really made yourself at home…” Hange jested, kicking an empty plant pot that was lying on the ground.
You glanced at the empty spot on the shelf near the entrance. It must have fallen during the night.
“It’s cosy enough. Nothing in here is alive enough to complain.” you murmured, stuck in a staring contest with the chipped plant pot, rough edges, like everything else lately.
A gasp echoed through the room. “Hey! I’m alive! I will complain loudly and frequently.” Hange proudly announced, crouching and picking up the plant pot. They squinted at the pot, as if it committed arson and burned their house down. “You’re welcome to the ‘alive’ club. Just so you know…” they almost whispered, looking at you.
You rolled your eyes at the comment, but a smile escaped your lips.
“You have enough attitude for ten alive people.” they teased, returning the pot to its original place. “That has to count for something!” they nudged you. Their hand made its way to your forehead, as if to check your body temperature.
They hummed in thought, tilting their head like a puppy begging to be let out to play. “Warm and breathing! Experiment conclusion: the subject is alive!” they quipped. You pushed them away, a light touch with no force.
“Very funny.” you retorted, trying to sound annoyed. You couldn’t help but smile at them. You missed this. You missed them.
They smiled back.
“Since the subject is alive, it will have to complete their duties!” they reminded you, looking you up and down. “I’ll wait for you outside. Make yourself more presentable!” they winked at you. You looked down at your oversized black sweater and grey sweatpants. Too warm. Too comforting. You groaned.
“What’s the plan for today?” you asked, taking off your sweater, leaving you in your black tank top. They whistled as you nudged past them to check your closet.
“I’m giving you a quick tour, just to make sure you haven’t forgotten where everything is.” they explained as they made their way to the door. “We will also visit the lady. I have to update you on all the upgrades so you’re ready when the time comes… After that it’s just some light training. Oh! And we can’t forget about the drift compatibility test.” They smiled at you one last time.
You heard them call your name as you searched through your closet. You looked at them and found them playing with the keypad. They chuckled. “The code… please?” They looked at you with puppy eyes.
You snorted, going back to rifling through your closet. “Two, zero, one, seven…”
“Cute.” they hummed, carefully putting in the code. The sound filling the room.
They left. It was silent for about five seconds before they popped their head back in, just as the doors were about to close.
“Maybe you should get some flowers for that pot! Something colourful!” they shouted. “I’ll wait for you down the hallway!” and then they were gone again.
You stilled.
Flowers. Something alive. Unlike you.
You counted to six seconds and the doors slid closed. Silence filled the room.
You finally settled on something suitable. Floor cleaned and clothes tucked away, a glint in the corner of the closet caught your eye.
You reached out. Your hands found leather.
A soft breath left your mouth as you pulled out a worn leather jacket.
You slowly turned it around. Your heart beating in anticipation. Your hands were cold and trembling. You already knew what awaited.
Striker Eureka. The bold white letters stretched across the back. Under them, an equally white shape resembling the Jaeger’s head. Each crack in the leather held a fragment of the past, a fragment you weren’t sure you could face.
You faced them anyway.
You pressed your face to it, only for a moment, letting the scent linger. It was comforting, in a quiet, painful way. A reminder that someone had been here, that someone had believed in you.
You put it on before you had a chance to regret it. The leather smells faintly of her. Worn soft by time and memory. Sliding it on felt like reclaiming something. You weren't sure what.
Might as well pretend you’re alive. Pretend you can do this.
Your hand brushed over the Pan Pacific Defense Corps logo positioned right over your heart. Reminder that some responsibilities survive grief. You pushed away the past. Pushed away her. Your chest tightened anyway.
You swallowed hard, letting the weight settle in. The jacket clung to you like armour, but also like memory.
You made your way to the door, typing in the code, and glanced at the chipped pot sitting on your shelf, thinking about what Hange had said. The idea of life, no matter how small, echoed in your mind. A stubborn spark that refused to die.
You wondered if you could be like that too, small, quiet, alive even when the world seemed to demand otherwise. Maybe being alive could be simple. It could be putting on a jacket, faintly smelling of a brighter past and carrying on anyway. Remembering without breaking.
You exhaled slowly, letting the quiet settle into you. You were breathing, you were still here. The cold metal beneath your boots, the hum of fluorescent lights, the soft clatter of the corridor. You existed. And for now, that had to be enough.
As you left your room and the metal doors slid closed behind you, you thought about daisies. Bright and defiant. Growing through the cracks in the concrete, stubbornly reaching for the sun. You were like that once. Maybe you could be again. Sometimes a spark is enough.
A flicker of something you no longer recognised settled in your chest, quiet but insistent.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Except for the hum of the machinery and the occasional flicker of lights, the corridor was quiet. Too quiet for a place housing all of humanity’s last hope.
It faintly smelled of cleaning chemicals and machine oil, an oddly comforting mixture belonging only to the Shatterdome.
You didn’t move immediately. You stood there for a moment, taking it all in. It felt real now.
A blonde J-Tech walked by, greeting you and stopping your train of thought. You straightened instinctively, and returned the greeting with your head held high. Behind you, your shadow stretched along the metal floor, shifting into something sharper. Something familiar.
A soldier. A role you knew well. It stood tall, unwavering.
It was familiar, safe. You knew it like the back of your hand, because it was you. It is you, it never left you. It grounded you. Keeping you tethered to what was left of your sanity. Maybe that’s why slipping back into it felt so easy. Why your resistance hadn’t ever really been a resistance, just a brief, meaningless struggle.
It was easy to fall back into that role.
Across from you stood another door. It was hard not to notice when Hange so enthusiastically pointed it out yesterday, mentioning that a ‘nice quiet neighbour’ lived there.
The Shatterdome was a nightmare to keep clean. Floors, walls and surfaces alike easily collect scuffs, fingerprints, smudges from passing J-Techs and stray dust from maintenance carts.
This door looked cleaner. Spotless almost. Only a cluster of scratches near the keypad broke the illusion.
Your fingers brushed the sleeve of the jacket, the leather shifted, memory seeping out of the fabric. You exhaled and tore your gaze away from the door.
Your boots finally moved, footsteps joining the cacophony of the Shatterdome’s machinery and humming electricity.
The Shatterdome was wide awake. J-Techs passed you, pushing around carts stacked with cables as they argued about voltage and calibrations. Somewhere down the corridor someone dropped a wrench. A cadet mumbled a quick apology after bumping into a cleaner. Someone behind you complained about their coffee being too hot. Your heart felt strange.
A few people looked up as you passed. They greeted you with either a smile or a nod. Some simply stared. Whether in surprise, respect or disdain, you didn’t know.
Some recognised you.
You saw it happen. The flicker in their eyes, mouth slightly agape, subtle straightening of posture, the whispers that followed in your wake. They looked at you as if you were a story. Not a person.
You kept walking.
At the end of the hallway stood Hange. Subtly rocking on their heels, waiting. They froze after they noticed you, only for a moment, before they snapped back into their usual mood. Their face lit up dramatically, their mouth open in a silent gasp.
“Well, well, well! Do a little spin for me!” They sang, twirling their finger in the air.
You contemplated going back to your room. Instead, you slowly, painfully, turned in a circle.
When you faced them again, they were still staring. Their face a mixture of shock and enthusiasm. You reached out and pushed their jaw shut, “You look like a drowning fish. Close your mouth.”
They straightened immediately, crossing their arms and tilting their head in thought. Inspecting you like a scientist analysing a rare species. “You’re wearing it.” They smiled.
“It was cold.” You shrugged, but you felt heat creep up your neck.
That was a lie. It was warm. Too warm, if anything. You weren’t sure if the Shatterdome had an increase in the heating budget or if you were flustered. You decided that it must have been the budget increase, that was probably why they didn’t have enough money for the Jaegers. It couldn’t be the latter.
“Liar! That’s not a practical jacket,” Hange said matter-of-factly.
“I wasn’t aware there were multiple types of jackets.” you snorted, already moving past them.
You didn’t need Hange to give you a tour, you knew this place inside out but you enjoyed their company.
Hange jogged to keep up with you. “Well, you see, there are jackets for when it’s really cold! Those are usually much thicker. Then we have the spring cold jackets. They’re lighter than what you have on. Now, I believe there are also jackets you buy with the specific intention of wearing them for a night out. Those became rare after the….” they shook their head. “Never mind that! There are also working jackets, like my lab coat.”
They cleared their throat, falling into step with you. “Now, what you are wearing is a sentimental jacket!”
You turned to stare at them, opening your mouth in protest but quickly closing it. They grinned triumphantly.
The corridor bent left towards the cafeteria and you followed it. “It was in the closet…” you muttered. Suddenly very aware of the leather around your shoulders. A source of both suffocation and fresh air.
“But you chose to put it on.” Hange said with a soft stare and sure tone. “It looks good on you.” they smiled and you tried to smile back.
You didn’t answer immediately. Compliments always sat strangely in your chest, this one more so. Maybe it was because it was hers.
She should be receiving that compliment. Not you. She should be wearing this jacket. Not you. Maybe you felt that if you wore it, everything would feel like it did before. Like she was here, with you. Maybe you would be more like her. Happier. More optimistic. Carefree.
Hange must have noticed your hesitation because they quickly put their arms on your shoulders. Their grip was tight and strong, as if they were afraid you were going to leave them again. It grounded you. “Anyway! I’m sure there’s way too many melancholic thoughts going through your head right now, huh? It’s too early for that! We didn’t even have breakfast! Come on, I’ll grab you a bagel from the cafeteria before we continue with the tour…”
They removed their hands from your shoulders and you immediately missed their touch. The absence was quickly replaced by their hands in yours, as they dragged you towards the cafeteria, mumbling something about existential crises.
“I feel like you’re trying to drag out this tour so you don’t have to come back to the laboratory.” you tried to joke.
“How dare you accuse me of that! I love my laboratory!” they gasped, purposefully bumping into you. “I simply love you more and want to spend more time with you!” your heart tightened at their words. For a moment, and only for a moment, you thought that maybe you wore the jacket because you knew she’d want you to be happy.
You hummed. “I’m glad we’re together again.” You weren’t exactly happy. And you wouldn’t be for a while.
But you missed Hange and they made you feel warm. You didn’t know what the weird sensation settling in your heart was, but you welcomed it. If you’re going to die out there, fighting Kaiju, you might make the most of your time here before that.
The strange feeling you felt earlier this morning was back again. A speck stronger. It settled deeper. Unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.
Neither of you spoke on the way to the cafeteria, you enjoyed each other’s presence in silence. The hallway widened as you approached the cafeteria. The smell hit first. Strong enough to wake the dead.
Coffee, eggs, toast. In those three years you spent alone, you rarely had time and resources to make breakfast as good as anything the cafeteria had to offer. Your stomach reacted before your brain did.
“Aha!” Hange grinned. “The subject displays signs of hunger!”
“I’m not a lab rat,” you grumbled, rolling your eyes.
“You are a returning Jaeger pilot. A much rarer specimen.” they noted.
Inside the cafeteria the morning crowd buzzed with energy. People moving because they had to, speaking because silence in a place like this could become unbearable. Metal trays clattered against the table, a cadet laughed too loudly at something you couldn’t hear.
Hange dragged you forward.
“Two bagels! The best you have!” Hange ordered, winking at the blonde cook behind the counter, dramatically waving two fingers around.
The cook chuckled, as if he is used to the brunette’s behaviour and slid forward two slightly uneven bagels. Hange grabbed the bigger one and quickly took a massive bite before you could protest. With a full mouth, they tried to thank the cook “Thank you, Niccolo!”
You quickly grabbed the other one before Hange decided one bagel wasn’t enough for them. You took a bite as you walked towards the hangar with the Jaegers. It was warm, slightly burnt on one side and probably the best thing you had eaten in months.
“Try not to look, but exactly thirteen people are staring at you right now.” Hange spoke as they chewed their bagel.
“That’s an improvement.” you chuckled.
“An improvement?” they asked and this time they didn’t have a bagel in their mouth. “How many were staring yesterday?”
“Everyone.”
Hange blinked. “Give them time to get used to having a famous person around. In a week's time only three people will be staring!” they said and quickly stuffed the rest of the bagel into their mouth.
“I’m not famous…” you took a bite, chewing slowly. Almost fascinated by the way they finished an entire bagel in two bites.
“I mean… you did solo pilot Eureka.” they thoughtfully said with a full mouth.
You rolled your eyes.
“And then you disappeared for three years.” They swallowed the bagel.
You sighed.
“And then you casually walk back wearing her jacket.”
Your jaw tightened around the next bite. Hange noticed. Of course they did.
“Relax.” they bumped their shoulder into yours. “I think you’re a badass!” You swallowed, but bumped them back.
You took one last look at the cafeteria before you turned a corner. You accidentally made eye contact with the group of cadets from yesterday. They quickly looked away. You focused on your bagel. It was easier.
Hange suddenly clapped. “Alright! Next stop on my extremely professional tour of the Shatterdome,” you raised an eyebrow, “the lady!” Hange grinned, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the hangar. “You ready?”
“Yeah.” Your fingers brushed unconsciously over the worn leather sleeve of the jacket “Always.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
You leaned against the platform railing, looking down at the people passing by. Mere ants from this height. Cadets, J-Techs, scientists… Everyone was moving too fast, like motion alone could delay the inevitable. Like if they stopped for even a second, the fear might catch up.
“Hey! Are you even listening to me?” Hange’s hand waved directly in front of your face.
You caught it this time, fingers wrapping loosely around their wrist to still it Grounding. You had been listening to them talk about Striker’s upgrades, weapons and whatnot for almost an hour. “Hm… something about the Plasma Casters charging quicker?”
“Yes!” they brightened instantly. “A good mid-range option if the Kaiju insist on having personal space. And their heat output is higher! Don’t forget that!” They leaned in, their voice dropping as if they were sharing a secret. “We even adjusted the firing delay. Now it will hit exactly where you think it will!”
A beat.
“Not where you thought half a second ago.”
You nodded. Beneath the enthusiasm, you could hear it. Worry, hidden under the excitement, like a crack under fresh paint.
“And please be careful with the Chest Missiles!” Hange added quickly, pulling their hand free only to wag a finger in your face. “Their firepower is stronger now, we do not want a repeat of what happened in Stohess four years ago!”
You let out a quiet laugh “Four and a half. And that wasn’t my fault.”
It wasn’t.
She was impulsive. The Kaiju got too close. You felt it before it happened, her decision threading through the drift like it was yours. Her hand moved, you felt it move. Your hand moved. Six missiles fired point-blank.
The Conn-Pod shook like it was going to split open. Metal screamed around you. Warning sirens bled into your skull. You could have died.
Instead, you laughed.
Laughed until your chest hurt, until your lungs burned, until your eyes watered.
You turned to look at her.
And she was already looking at you.
Her brown eyes, soft and steady, full of something you never named, something that settled under your skin and stayed there. Then she smiled.
Hange’s sigh pulled you back, their voice quiet as they slipped their hands back into yours, “That’s why the armour is stronger now. No more close-range explosions.” Their grip was tight.
“The Conn-Pod has been reinforced. Triple-layer armour, anti-corrosive, resistant to Kaiju Blue… everything we could do.” Hange pulled away from you, turning to look at the massive Jaeger. Something in their eyes flickered as they looked up at its head.
Their voice shifted. “Good news, I guess. If something tries to bite the head off again…you should be safe.” A pause. “You will be safe. It won’t happen.” Another pause.
“You will be safe.” They quickly shook the thought away.
Their words didn’t land. They hovered somewhere between you, heavy and uncertain.
“Oh, look at her… isn’t she just beautiful.” They forced the brightness back “Most of the systems are the same as before. You won’t have any trouble piloting her.” You followed their gaze, and for a second their words almost felt true.
“Oh! The retractable wrist blades!” Hange perked up again, already pulling up a hologram “They’ve got some thermal upgrades!” The projection lit up between you. “With enough charge time, they can comfortably reach over three thousand degrees Celsius!”
You blinked “Comfortably.”
“That’s the safe mode!” they chirped.
“The safe mode.”
“Ha! Technically they can reach over six thousand degrees in overdrive!” They pushed the hologram in your face. The hologram shifted, numbers spiked and warning symbols flashed red. You stared at it, trying to understand it. You failed.
Noticing your confusion, they explained, “Well.. that’s assuming the coolant system doesn’t fail, the metal doesn’t warp…” they scratched the back of their neck “And your arm doesn’t melt off!” they chuckled. You stared at the hologram displaying an animation of the Jaeger’s arm melting, red lights flashing.
“Reassuring.” you murmured.
“But! As long as you don’t activate it on purpose or go chasing RABBITS mid-activation, it’s perfectly fine!”
“Anyway! Their deployment time is under two seconds! And when you do deploy them-” they made a dramatic whoosh motion with their hands, the hologram device almost falling “some electric sparks shoot out! Very satisfying. You’ll like it. It’s meant to have a taser-like effect for the Kaiju.”
“Wait. Go back.” you exhaled.
You knew you were a good pilot. A great pilot, even. Good enough to solo pilot for over ten minutes. But your mind is weaker now. Fractured. And if the weapon could go haywire because you lost control, because you felt too much or not enough-
They hummed, tilting their head in question.
“Go back to the part where it goes wrong.”
They explained it again, more controlled this time. “Heat activation is optional. And, there are some failsafes,” a new slide popped up on the hologram, “Temperature limiters, automatic shutdown, emergency overdrive coolant.” They smiled slightly, “I call it the coolant purge! Lots of steam if that kicks in, very cinematic-”
You pinched the bridge of your nose, “This isn’t a movie, Hange.”
“If you survive and we win this war, then it could be” they closed the hologram, placing their hands on their hips like a disapproving mother.
They noticed your hesitance, of course they did. “Worst case scenario, you don’t activate the heat upgrade and just beat up those Kaiju the old fashioned way!”
“I guess you’re right,” you groaned.
“I always am!” they chuckled lightly, nudging you closer to the Jaeger, you let them. “To think you’ll be back in there in a few hours…” Hange murmured, looking up at the Conn-Pod. Your chest tightened, slow and unwelcome.
“It’s just a drift compatibility test,” you said, “It will be quick.”
“But if you’re compatible-” they inhaled sharply, “Imagine… you could be out there fighting Kaiju as early as tomorrow!”
You didn’t look at them. Your chances were slim. Or maybe they weren’t. Maybe that was the problem. Because if you’re compatible, that’s it. No distance. No walls. No hiding.
“I doubt it.”
“Good thing I believe in you, Striker.”
“You shouldn’t.”
They punched your arm.
“Hey! I’m your best friend. Don’t disappoint your best friend!” They said, half joking, half not. “If I say you’ll beat the Kaiju, then you will. And then you’ll come back, and we’ll eat bagels.”
“If you say so.”
“Promise,” they said, “We’ll win this war, and then we’ll eat, and sleep, and-”
Your fingers brush against the jacket sleeves. The leather was warm now, or maybe you were.
“I promise.” Your words tasted wrong. Hollow. You both knew it. Neither of you said it.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Her heavy breaths echoed through the training centre, uneven and sharp, cutting through the otherwise controlled silence of the arena. They came in quick bursts, chest rising and falling as she struggled to steady herself. The scent of sweat and metal lingered in the air.
Your staff hovered a millimetre from her neck. For a moment neither of you moved, the quiet heavy between you like it had weight.
Then, slowly, deliberately, you moved it, letting the tip drift away from her skin before resting it against your shoulder. The tension bled out of your stance, but not entirely. It never really did. Her own staff lay discarded somewhere near the edge of the arena, thrown aside the moment you disarmed her.
“Five to three. I won.” Your voice was cold. Not triumphant, just certain. Final.
She threw her head back in a quiet laugh, breath still uneven, her black hair slipping loose from its once neat ponytail. Damp strands clung to her temples and the curve of her jaw as she pushed them back with the back of her wrist.
“Good to have you back, Striker.”
You hummed, rolling your shoulders as the dull ache settled deep into your muscles. Familiar. Welcome. Something your body recognised long before your mind allowed it.
“I missed you too, Pieck.”
The words came easier to you than expected. Too easy.
Hange had left not long after walking you to the training centre, disappearing back into the labs with their usual whirlwind of energy, leaving you alone with ghosts that still breathed and spoke and smiled as if nothing had changed.
You had watched the cadets for a while. Their movements were trained, deliberate, but rough around the edges. Too wide, too eager, too careless. They moved like people who had studied combat, not survived it. Like people who had never felt a Jaeger shudder beneath them or heard metal scream under Kaiju claws.
They lacked precision. They lacked fear.
They didn’t hold your attention for long, so you found a punching bag instead.
You stayed there longer than you meant to, long enough for your knuckles to bruise and your arms to grow heavy, long enough for your body to slip back into something it hadn’t forgotten, something your mind had spent years trying to bury.
By the time Pieck found you, sweat clung to your skin and your breathing had evened out into something controlled, something steady. Her greeting had been formal at first, polite and almost distant, but her hands told a different story when they met yours. Steady, calloused, firm.
Real.
She said she had missed you. You believed her.
Your reunitement quickly ended in a friendly spar. Pieck insisted on testing you, making sure you hadn’t gone ‘soft’. You didn’t refuse. You never did.
“Oh, come on! I was cheering for you, Pieck!” Porco’s voice rang out from the sidelines, loud and dramatic as he lowered his jacket he had been using as makeshift pompoms, clearly offended by the outcome, his drift partner losing.
You lowered your staff, straightening as you turned towards him, your expression flat and uninterested.
“I’m glad you won, Striker,” he added, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Good to know our best pilot is back.”
You rolled your eyes, the motion slow and exaggerated.
“Sure,” you drawled, glancing back at Pieck as you extended a hand to help her up. She took it without hesitation, pulling herself up to her feet, her grip firm, “How have you been?”
Porco jumped in before she could answer, “Oh, just the usual. Successfully killing Kaiju, enjoying the attention and fame.”
Pieck’s eyes flickered towards him in mild annoyance, “We’ve been good. It’s tiresome, but someone must do it. Eden’s holding up pretty well, just some minor repairs and upgrades here and there.”
“I bet. I saw you take out that Category IV Kaiju just yesterday. Good job.” You turned the TV off before witnessing it, but you knew they were strong. You knew Eden Assassin killed the Kaiju, and you know they piloted her. They were good friends, co-pilots in perfect sync. No doubt about their skill.
“Thanks, it was the element of surprise that helped us end it quickly.” Pieck said, calm, humble. “We’re glad you’re back now. We missed you on the field as much as we missed your company.”
“That we did.” Porco agreed, nodding.
You felt awkward, fumbling for words. A mumbled “I missed your company too,” slipped past your lips. It felt insufficient. You wiped the sweat from your face with the bottom of your top.
Porco whistled, climbing into the arena with you, picking up Pieck’s discarded staff. “Since you’ve beat my partner, it’s only fair you fight me too. A rematch of sorts.”
Pieck giggled, stepping aside and perching on the arena’s edge, watching. She wasn’t the only one, you’ve gained quite an audience.
“You’re seriously going to fight me now? When I’m out of practice and tired? That’s low, even for you, Porco.” you said, smirking, raising your staff and squaring your stance.
“And we both know it’s still not an even fight.” he mumbled, shoulders squaring. “First to five hits wins.”
You focused solely on him, the rest blurred away. Your body slipped effortlessly back into the old rhythm. Pieck’s voice carried from the background, cheering you on softly. Porco grumbled, claiming she should be cheering on her co-pilot, but you ignored it.
He initiated first, swinging for your head. You twisted effortlessly, avoiding precise strikes of his staff.
He attacked again, this time aiming low. You pivoted, letting him lose his balance, hooking your leg under his. He fell forward, flat against the floor. When he turned to face you again, ready to defend, your staff pressed against his chest.
“One to zero,” you said, tilting your head as he looked up at you. He laughed as he got to his feet, shaking it off.
This time you lunged. He jumped back, leaning away from your staff’s path. He went for a retaliatory swing and you rolled under it, twisting smoothly as he lunged recklessly again. You landed in a crouch and your leg swept him off balance, he hit the floor once more. You were quick to get up on your feet, your staff brushing against his neck as he looked up.
“You have to be more careful. Two to zero.” you said, helping him up, your fingers briefly brushing his shoulders in consolation.
He assumed position again, his grin tight but determined. There was a shift now, he was more calculating now. His eyes tracking your staff, predicting, weighing.
He carefully circled you.
You mirrored his movements, staff poised, muscles coiled and ready. Sweat trickled down your temple, stinging your eyes, but your body moved with ease only earned through countless battles. The arena smelled of dust, sweat and effort, each scuff of your boots kicking up faint puffs of dust into the air.
Porco feigned left, then struck right, faster than before. You barely managed to deflect it, twisting your torso as your staff scraped against his, the collision sending a sharp vibration up your arms.
His timing had improved, you stumbled. Stumbled just enough for him to exploit it. Before you could regain full control, he tapped your side with the edge of his staff.
Two to one.
He smirked, breathing harder and no longer laughing.
Somewhere from the sidelines, Pieck softly cheered, hands clasped around her mouth, “Focus, Striker. You’ve got this!”
You nodded, centering yourself. Ignoring the ache in your muscles. The rhythm of combat settled over you like a second skin.
Amongst the crowd, you recognised the cadets from yesterday. Their attention was loud in the way inexperience always was, leaning forward, whispering, reacting to every strike like it might be the deciding blow.
One presence didn’t move with the rest.
It didn’t lean in, didn’t whisper, didn’t react. It simply watched.
Your eyes caught his without meaning to, his grey eyes didn’t widen, didn’t flicker, didn’t give anything away. He looked unimpressed. Your grip on the staff tightened just slightly.
Something in your chest shifted, something sharper than fear, sharper than irritation. A challenge. You held his gaze for half a second longer than necessary.
Porco lunged again, the moment snapped clean in half. You parried, pivoted, and twisted in fluid motion. You landed a sharp tap on his arm, forcing him back.
Three to one.
Porco’s eyes narrowed. His next hit came as a trap. He feigned a strike to your chest, then spun, targeting your thigh. You barely managed to twist aside, but he found a gap, his staff grazing your side with a sharp smack. Three to two.
Your chest heaved, “Not bad.”
The two of you circled each other again. The arena seemed smaller now. People leaned forward, focusing on the two of you. Then you saw an opening, he leaned a fraction too forward. Your staff swept under his feet, he rolled forwards, but your staff landed on his shoulder before he could get up. Four to two.
The next few exchanges were quick, almost too fast for anyone watching. Your staff met his own with a ringing clash, the scrape of wood against wood echoed through the arena. You pushed him back, ducking under his next hit and spinning, tapping him once more while he was mid-strike. You scored.
Five to two.
Porco froze mid-step, expression a mixture of disbelief and respect. He laughed and shook his head as he heaved forward, resting his hands on his knees, his staff now discarded on the arena floor. “Alright, you win.”
You lowered your staff, before you too dropped it on the floor. Your muscles throbbed pleasantly, aching with exertion and exhilaration. The adrenaline lingered, sharp and satisfying.
People clapped and cheered. Among them stood Pieck with a soft and genuine smile on her face, “You still have it.”
“Guess I’ll have to step it up next time”, admitted Porco, still catching his breath.
You faintly smiled this time, wiping the sweat from your forehead, “Next time,” you echoed. Your words carried the weight of a cherished memory. Countless battles fought and survived. Countless more to come. It was also a promise. A promise there will be next time. A promise you’ll both survive.
You disengage from the conversation, letting it fall behind you as if it had never mattered in the first place. The noise of the arena dulled into something distant, indistinct, a blur of voices and movement that no longer held your attention.
Your steps carried you to the bench where your stuff lay scattered, your jacket draped carefully over the edge, its worn leather standing out against the dull greys of the training centre.
You reached for the towel first. The fabric dragged slowly across your skin as you wiped the sweat from your face, your movements were heavier now, weighed down by the dull, satisfying ache settling deep into your muscles. Every shift, every flex, reminded you just how long it had been and how easily your body had slipped back into something it was never meant to forget.
Around you, the murmurs continued. Quieter now, but still present. You ignored them.
Until you didn’t.
Three sets of footsteps broke through the noise, uneven and hesitant, just loud enough to pull at your attention.
And then your name.
You turned.
Your gaze landed first on a pair of emerald eyes, wide, bright and far too transparent. There was no hiding what lived in them. Awe. Fear. Something restless beneath it all, something sharp and burning. The boy from yesterday.
Behind him, the others lingered like shadows orbiting something unstable.
The girl stood straight, posture controlled to the point of rigidity, her onyx hair framing a face that gave nothing away at first glance, yet her eyes moved. Precise and deliberate, taking you in piece by piece, measuring, assessing.
Next to her, the blonde boy looked like he would rather be anywhere else. Shoulders slightly hunched, hands drawn in close, glasses slipping precariously down the bridge of his nose as he fidgeted with them, his gaze flickering between you and the floor like he couldn’t decide which was safer.
The silence stretched. Awkward and thin.
You raised a brow and that was all it took.
“Miss!” the brunette blurted, the word coming out too fast, too loud, his voice catching halfway through as if it had tripped over itself. “I wanted to apologise about yesterda-” it cracked, sharp and sudden, and he winced before pushing through it, “I’m Eren, by the way! One of Attack Typhoon’s new pilots-”
The blonde elbowed him. Hard enough to interrupt, not hard enough to stop him.
“I’m very, very, very sorry!” he yelped, bowing so quickly it looked more like he folded in on himself than anything intentional. “If I had known who you were, I-”
This time the girl elbowed him. Harder.
“-Sorry!” he corrected immediately, voice pitching higher, words tumbling out faster now, uncontrolled. “I should have been more careful, and I should have apologised right away! No one deserves to be disrespected like that and I didn’t mean to and I-”
“It doesn’t matter.” Your voice cut through him, not loud, not sharp. Final.
He stopped. The words hung there anyway, unfinished, lingering in the space between you.
You shifted, straightening slightly as you tossed the towel over your shoulder, one hand settling on your hip while the other reached for your things. The movement was casual, dismissive, deliberately so.
“Listen, kid,” you added, quieter now, but not softer, “It’s no big deal. It was an accident.” A small pause. “Accidents happen.”
You waved a hand, brushing it off like it was nothing. Like they were nothing.
“I don’t care.” You turned away before they could answer, attention dropping back to your belongings, finger adjusting straps and fabric with unnecessary precision, anything to give your hands something to do.
Behind you, they didn’t leave.
Of course they didn’t.
Their voices dropped into a low, hurried murmur. Whispered arguments, sharp nudges, the kind of quiet chaos that always came with people who hadn’t yet learned how to hold themselves together.
Then the blonde spoke, his voice softer, more careful.
“Miss, aside from apologising… Eren wanted to-”
“Armin!” Eren hissed, elbowing him this time, the sound somewhere between panic and embarrassment.
“We wanted to say that you’re… an inspiration to us. To all of us.” He swallowed, adjusting his glasses again, buying himself a second before continuing, “What you did in Shiganshina was-”
You stopped hearing him. The word settled first.
Inspiration.
It settled wrong. Heavy. Bitter.
Your shoulders stilled in a way that didn’t match the ease you forced into the rest of your posture.
Inspiration for what?
For stepping into a machine that eats you alive piece by piece?
For surviving something you were never meant to survive?
For losing everything and calling it victory because you happened to be the one left breathing?
You hadn’t been brave. You hadn’t been heroic.
You had been there.
That was all.
And now they stood in front of you, too young, too certain, ready to follow the same path like it was something worth chasing. Like it was something worth becoming.
Like you were something worth being.
The girl spoke before the silence could turn sharp.
Her voice was calm, controlled. Grounding. “Don’t mind them,” she said, cutting through the tension without raising her voice, her gaze steady on you. “We just wanted to thank you.” A slight pause. “We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”
You didn’t ask what she meant.
You didn’t want to know.
Your jaw tightened, just enough to feel it. “You have nothing to thank me for.” The words came out colder than intended.
Or maybe exactly as cold as you meant them to be.
The three of them froze, your words landing like stone in still water. Eren’s mouth opened, then closed, and then opened again. Armin adjusted his glasses, eyes wide and uncertain, and the onyx girl simply nodded once, acknowledging your answer without conceding anything.
You went back to your stuff, but their gaze never left you. Their eyes heavy, expectant, and pressing. The unspoken hunger for approval burning in their expressions.
Despite yourself, a flicker of responsibility stirred, brief and sharp, like a spark against metal.
“Listen,” you said, voice low but steady, carrying just enough weight to make them lean in, “admiration is fine. Inspiration is fine. But don’t let it blind you. You don’t survive out there by idolizing people. You survive by knowing your limits, respecting them, and pushing past them only when it counts.”
Eren blinked, nodding so quickly his shoulders bounced.
“Focus on your training and listen to each other. Don’t act recklessly to prove something,” you continued, slowly backing away towards the arena’s exit with your things, letting the distance reinforce your point. “And remember, fear is okay. Complacency will kill you faster than the Kaiju ever could.”
They wordlessly followed you to the exit. “Alright,” you said, sharp but not unkind, “I’ve got things to take care of. Go. Back to the drills.”
The three of them hesitated, caught between awe and reluctance, but the finality in your tone brooked no argument. Slowly, they shuffled off, Eren muttering something under his breath, Armin following, and the girl last, her eyes lingering on you just a fraction too long before she finally turned.
You watched them leave, the faint echo of their footsteps fading, the dust and sweat and heat settling back around you like a familiar shroud. You let out a breath, heavy but controlled. One thought stuck in your mind, the best advice you could give. Don’t pilot a Jaeger.
From the shadows at the far end of the arena, a presence shifted. Silent. Your back stiffened slightly, the muscles in your shoulders tightening as if they remembered someone could command the room without raising their voice.
“Ranger.” The voice was smooth, low, carrying authority wrapped in something softer, almost familiar. You turned, and there he was, Erwin, his figure framed by the muted light of the arena’s exit. His posture crisp and upright, yet his eyes held careful warmth, the kind that made you lower your guard for a heartbeat.
“You still fight well,” he said, stepping closer, hands tucked behind his back. His gaze didn’t waver, but there was an edge, a secret observance behind it, “I watched your little… exhibition with Porco. Impressive. As always.”
You let a small smirk twitch at the corner of your lips, “Of course you did,” you murmured, the accusation light, teasing, but not without its weight.
Erwin’s smile was small, calculated. “I also heard you met the new cadets.”
You nodded curtly. “They’re… ambitious.”
Erwin chuckled, but lacked the warmth, “I guess ambitious is a word for it.”
As gasps echoed inside the arena, both of you turned to look.
A sparring match was taking place, with the black haired man from before. His movements were a blur of precision, elegant almost, swift controlled and unnervingly calm. Each strike landed perfectly, each counter left his opponent off-balance, guessing, struggling. He was… exceptional.
“Him,” you muttered under your breath, watching him dominate opponent after opponent with the ease of someone born to it. You shifted your weight, shoulders loosening as the adrenaline from your earlier duel began to fade. “He should be my co-pilot.”
Erwin’s expression softened for only the briefest instant before the mask of command slid back into place.
“No.” The word was flat, decisive. You lifted an eyebrow.
“Both of you carry too much baggage.” His gaze met yours, steady and knowing. “Not the kind you can leave behind in the cockpit. It affects timing, trust, even instinct. You’d destroy each other before the Kaiju even noticed you were there.”
You let his words hang, the sharp edge of his judgement pressing against your chest like a physical weight. You wanted to argue, wanted to remind him that experience outweighs ‘baggage’, that instinct and skill don’t come with a neatly folded past, but something in his calm, unyielding gaze stopped you.
“You think we’d get in each other’s way?”
“More than that.” Erwin didn’t flinch.
Your gaze flicked past him, first to where the man in the arena had just dealt his finishing strike, then to your own reflection in the polished floor, sweat-streaked and bruised knuckles still throbbing, reminding you that Erwin wasn’t wrong. You had trusted no one but yourself for a long time. And you had survived.
You let the moment stretch, the air thick with unspoken acknowledgment. The two of you didn’t need more words.
Erwin walked towards the exit, his crisp silhouette framed by the dim light. He turned back to you, voice carrying the same calm authority.
“Before you come to the hangar for the drift compatibility test…” He studied you carefully, eyes flicking over the sweat streaked skin. “...shower. Rest. Eat if you have to. You won’t be at your best if you show up like this.”
You raised an eyebrow, “You sound like a drill sergeant.”
“I’m being practical,” he replied evenly, his tone sharper now, less teasing and more direct, “I don’t want you underperforming because of something as simple as exhaustion. The drift compatibility test isn’t forgiving.” A pause. “Neither am I.”
You let out a short laugh, “Fine. Shower, eat, rest. Got it.”
Erwin stiffly nodded, half-satisfied, “Good. The test is in two hours. Don’t be late.”
“Yes, sir,” you muttered, the faintest grin tugging at your lips as he turned to leave.
“One more thing, Ranger,” Erwin paused near the exit, “Keep that edge. You’ll need it.”
You shook your head, chuckling, as the sound of his footsteps faded, leaving you with the scent of sweat, metal and dust, and the familiar, heavy pull of anticipation.
Two hours. Two hours until the drift test. Time to see if you still had it together.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
You stood in the hallway, leaning against the cold metal wall. The surface pressed into your shoulder blades, grounding you into something physical, something real.
In less than five minutes you would be stepping back into a Jaeger.
In less than five minutes you would be back in the drift.
And maybe, just maybe, in less than five minutes you would once again be a Jaeger pilot.
You were fine. Your breathing was steady. Your heart rate was steady. Your temperature was normal. Everything was steady, measured, and correct.
You were fine.
You weren’t nervous. You’ve done this too many times for nerves to matter. The memory of it still lived under your skin anyway, the weight of metal around you, limbs locked into something too large to feel human, the sensation of a thousand tons responding as if it were an extension of thought.
Despite everything, your foot tapped. Small, impatient, repetitive. The sound echoed down the empty corridor and came back slightly delayed, like even the Shatterdome was unsure whether to answer you.
You counted the taps without meaning to. Two hundred and sixty-three.
A door hissed open before you reached two hundred and sixty-four.
A brunette scientist stepped out. Moblit, you recognized him immediately, same careful posture and the same careful expression that made him look like he was trying not to disturb the world around him. He said your name softly.
Too softly. Like you were not just a variable in a test. Like you were a person.
“We’re ready for you,” he said, swiping his keycard through the panel. The heavy metal doors slid open behind him with a deep mechanical sigh. He stepped aside to let you pass.
“Took you long enough,” you muttered, trying for lightness. It came out flatter than intended. You straightened your shoulders anyway and walked in.
The room inside was brighter than expected. Too bright. Clean surfaces and controlled lighting. The hum of systems already awake and waiting.
And Erwin was there.
For a split second you stopped. That was not normal, Drift tests were not important enough for him to be present. They were medical, technical. Routine. That was what you told yourself.
“What’s a Marshal of the Pan Pacific Defense Corps doing here?” you asked as you approached, forcing your posture taller, more composed, like presence alone could tilt the room in your favour.
Marshal Smith looked at you calmly. “Well,” he said evenly, “I am responsible for overseeing all important projects.”
“I wasn’t aware Drift tests qualified as important.”
A pause.
“Yours is.”
That landed heavier than it should have. Before you could respond, a hand tapped your shoulder.
You turned slightly, a blonde man stood there. Beard neatly trimmed, glasses sitting politely on his nose, expression open in a way that felt practiced. He looked like he had learned how to make himself non-threatening in rooms like this.
He greeted both you and the Marshal politely. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, offering a small careful smile, “I wanted to introduce myself. I am your new potential co-pilot.” A beat. “Not yet, of course,” he added quickly, almost laughing at his own words, “But if this test goes well, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”
He extended his hand, “I am Zeke. Zeke Jaeger.” The name carried a weight you didn’t immediately acknowledge. “I’ve been told you already met my younger brother,” he continued, “Eren. Well, half-brother.”
You looked at him properly now, measured him. Then looked at the hand he was still holding out. You didn’t take it.
“I don’t really do handshakes,” you said. His hand hesitated in the air for a fraction too long before he pulled it back into his pocket with a small, embarrassed laugh.
“Oh. Sorry.”
Behind you, Erwin let out something that resembled a quiet chuckle.
“I have met Eren,” you said, turning your attention back to Zeke, “He seems eager.”
“Yes,” Zeke replied, “It runs in the family. The ambition to fight for humanity.”
“Does it?” you asked, rhetorically.
Before anything else could follow, another presence came. A black-haired woman stepped forward. Freida, one of the Shatterdome neuropsychologists.
Her expression was composed, professional, but not cold. She looked at you like she was trying very carefully not to fracture something already cracked. “I’ll be leading your Drift compatibility test,” she said.
She shook Zeke’s hand first, briefly, efficiently, then turned to you. Her hand remained outstretched. “I’m not sure if you remember me,” she added gently.
You took her hand. Soft. Familiar in a way you didn’t immediately want to examine.
Zeke glanced at the contact, watching too closely.
“I do,” you said. The memory surfaced without permission. She had been there before, when you scored a perfect synchronisation once, a 100% compatibility. With-
Frieda smiled faintly, releasing your hand. “I’m glad. It’s good to have you back,” a pause, “I’ll take good care of you.” Her gaze shifted between you and Zeke. “Both of you.”
She turned slightly towards Erwin, “Striker Eureka is ready for testing. So if you’ll excuse me, Marshal Smith, I’ll be stealing your rangers.”
“They’re all yours,” Erwin replied.
Frieda gestured towards the walkway, a metal bridge extended forward, leading you towards the Conn-Pod. You stepped onto it.
Behind the barriers, people had already gathered. Watching. Always watching.
Hange stood near the front, waving a thumbs-up too enthusiastically. Moblit tried, and failed, to restrain them. Erwin remained still, observing with controlled precision. Miche and Nanaba stood at the edge of the crowd, silent and composed. Behind them, you saw Pieck and Porco linger, their expressions encouraging. Familiar, steady faces.
And somewhere deeper in the crowd, a speck of black. Still. Unmoving. You looked away before you could confirm it.
“You take the right,” you said suddenly.
Zeke glanced at you.
“My right arm is kind of shot,” you added, already stepping toward position.
He studied you for a moment longer than necessary, then nodded, “Alright.”
Inside the Conn-Pod, technicians moved around you like quiet ghosts. The drivesuit locked into place, cold metal pressed into your spine and shoulders. The Drift helmet lowered above your head with mechanical precision.
Frieda’s voice came through the intercom, “Once again, if anything goes wrong, we will extract you immediately.”
A pause.
“Two pilots on board. Two pilots detected and ready to connect,” the AI spoke up.
The technicians exited, the doors sealed closed. Now it was only you.
And him.
Zeke’s voice cut through the silence, “Ready to be in my head?” You didn’t answer.
The lights shut off completely. A holographic interface lit up in the darkness, two neural profiles suspended in space, brain-mapping data flickered between them like unstable stars. Then AI spoke up, “Initiating neural handshake.”
You inhaled slowly. Four counts in, four held, four out.
“Initiating Drift sequence,” the system continued.
The space between you shifted. Not physically. Internally. Like something vast had leaned in close.
“Left Hemisphere calibrated,” the AI announced, “Right Hemisphere calibrated.”
Your vision fractured into light. For a moment you felt yourself slip. Not forward, not backward, but inward. Then you felt a sharp destabilisation. The system stuttered.
“Neural desynchronisation detected.”
A sound like pressure breaking echoed somewhere beside you. Zeke exhaled sharply, strained.
“Drift instability increasing.”
You didn’t move. Didn’t push. Didn’t pull. You simply were there. And he wasn’t.
“Pilot out of alignment,” the AI warned.
Light spiked, fractured, collapsed.
“Termination recommended.”
A violent jolt ripped through the system. Silence followed.
Then, “Drift sequence terminated.”
The helmet lifted and cold air rushed in. You blinked once as your vision returned. Zeke was on the floor, breathing hard and groaning in pain. One hand pressed against his temple like the pain had weight.
“Drift compatibility score,” the AI stated flatly, “three percent.”
Three percent. That was it.
You exhaled slowly. You had expected something worse. You weren’t disappointed. You were unchanged.
Zeke tried to push himself up but lost balance, collapsing back down. Frieda entered again, already assessing.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, though her eyes lingered on you longer than on him, “You are not compatible.” Not a judgement. A result.
“Zeke will be taken to the medical wing for observation,” he muttered something under his breath as he was helped out, still dazed. Frieda turned to you, her voice almost regretful “You should rest. Another test is scheduled for you tomorrow evening. Marshal Smith is keen on finding you a co-pilot.”
You nodded once, “Thank you.” You left before she could say anything else.
The crowd outside shifted as you emerged. Faces turned, watching, measuring. Disappointment. Curiosity. Pity. Awe. Confusion. You didn’t slow down.
Moblit stepped slightly in front of Hange, gently pulling them back before they could approach. Miche and Nanaba didn’t move, but their eyes followed you with quiet understanding. Pieck’s murmur of ‘sorry’ was lost in the crowd, and Porco simply watched, his face blank.
Erwin’s gaze found you. You felt it. You didn’t meet it.
The doors slid open, cold air hit you first. Then silence. You leaned against the wall outside the chamber, letting the metal take your weight.
Your breathing was uneven. Why was your breathing uneven? That wasn’t right. It was just a test. Just a mismatch. It wasn’t supposed to feel like anything. It was supposed to be nothing. You didn’t like him. You didn’t care about him. You didn’t want compatibility with him. Nothing had changed. You didn’t care.
So why did it feel like something in you had been rejected before you even realised it was reaching? This was stupid. You’re stupid. You tried breathing, but your body kept arriving half a second too late, like it had stopped trusting your instructions.
Your vision narrowed at the edges. The sound became distant. Your chest was tight. Why was your chest tight? This was for the best. This was good. It wasn’t your fault. The neural overload was too much for him. You did fine. You did well. You did good. So why was air suddenly something you had to pull instead of receive?
Behind you, the doors opened again.
Your body reacted before your mind did. Spine straightening, breath controlled. Four in, four held, four out. You were fine. You had to be.
The sound of footsteps shatters the silence. Measured. Unrushed. Like whoever owns them has decided there is no reason to hurry for anything in this building.
Then he steps into view.
Short. Uniform as dark as his hair. Eyes holding a storm inside them.
He looks at you the way he’s been looking at you since you arrived, like you’re a problem he hasn’t decided how to file yet.
Neither of you speak. The silence stretches and you hate that you feel like he is the one controlling it.
His gaze flickers over you once. Not concern, not curiosity, but assessment. Like you’re equipment that failed a calibration check.
“...So you’re the legendary pilot,” he says flatly.
Legendary hits wrong.
You push off the way slightly, shoulders tightening, “If you’re here to be impressed, you’re in the wrong place.”
His expression doesn’t change, “I’m not.” He steps closer, “You just failed a Drift match.”
That makes you exhale sharply through your nose, “And what’s your expert conclusion?” you ask,.
His eyes narrow slightly, like you’ve said something mildly irritating, “I think you’re lucky.”
Your fingers flex at your side as you wait for him to continue.
“People like you survive something they shouldn’t, and suddenly everyone starts treating it like skill.” His tone stays even, almost bored, “But luck isn’t repeatable.” A beat. “You don’t look like someone who can repeat it.”
Something sharp rises in your chest. You step forward now, closing the space he didn’t bother to keep, “Funny,” you say quietly, “you don’t look like you’ve ever been in a Jaeger.”
“I don’t need to be,” his eyes flick to yours, “I know when someone is praised too highly.”
Your voice drops, “I don’t care what you think I am.”
“You piloted a machine built to kill things bigger than cities, and you just failed a neural alignment,” he said.
“I don’t like you talking like you understand it,” you bite back.
Something changed in his eyes, you’re unable to pinpoint what. “You’re breathing like it’s still happening.”
“I’m fine,” you say automatically.
He tilts his head, “People always say that,” a beat, “right before it catches up to them.”
You take a step back, scoffing, “Don’t talk to me. I’m not your drift partner.”
“Good,” he says and the words land clean, “I wouldn’t want you to be my drift partner.”
“You don’t think I’m a pilot,” you take another step back, “You think I’m just someone who got lucky,” another, “Then stop watching me.”
He is quiet for a moment. You turn around now, walking away. Behind you, a sharp “Try not to fall apart in the next one,” echoes.
You stopped for half a second.
Then kept walking.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
You tossed in your bed that night, unable to sleep. When you were little, your mum used to tell you to count the sheep.
You listened. You imagined them jumping over you, soft and warm, wool bright with colour. You counted until the world went quiet. Until you fell asleep.
You stopped doing that when she died.
Tonight, you counted your heartbeat.
Sixty-one beats per minute.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Author's note:
I KNOW THERE’S BARELY ANY LEVI HERE. I’M SORRY.
this chapter is doing a lot of heavy lifting (worldbuilding, technical stuff, important character introductions, emotional damage etc.) so yes it’s messy, no it’s not sorry, and yes it’s here anyway.
consider this the “setup episode” where everything gets explained and nothing is emotionally stable yet.
i am so sorry for the long wait, i violently got thrown back into uni which reduced the amount of free time i have. also, my roommate dropped out and moved out (rude smh how dare she) which meant i had to find a new apartment, move all my things and also do legal paperwork like a real adult lol
anyway, i survived and i'm trying to find more time to write and its working (slowly but surely). chap 2 is at 3k words and only about halfway done, so hopefully it will make up for the wait xx
Okay, that's a really good sentence. Typo. Typo. Huh, did I write this? It's actually not bad. Typo. Hm, I would cut out that part now, but it kind of works. TYPO. Oh, this part is really good. That is the wrong word, wtf? I'm enjoying this more than I thought I would. ANOTHER TYPO? FFS.
i just read my entire chapter one for the first time to make sure i got some information in chapter two correctly and let me tell you... that was an experience
sorry for everyone reading that mess lol
also... not gonna fix it.... (boohoo me) it's a part of my charm xx
i do not “delete sentences” when they start “hindering the plot” i COPY PASTE THEM into a SEPARATE DOC made just for keeping all my USELESS LINES that i will also NEVER USE so therefore i should JUST DELETE THEM but i DONT because id FEEL BAD if i did
i just love writing hange so much like... they're the reader's #1 supporter and would fight a category V kaiju barehanded for them, no questions asked.
i hope i can do their friendship justice!!
chapter 2 is in the works and there is lots of hange everywhere
I waited my whole life for an Pacific Rim AU with Levi and FINALLY it exist!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!! Just the first chapter was sooo well written, IT'S PERFEECT!! ❤❤❤❤❤❤
Ahh! Thank you so so much, you're really sweet!
I'm genuinely glad you're enjoying the fic and I hope you'll enjoy the future chapters as well <3
I'm having the best time writing it, and knowing someone out there is excited about it too? Serotonin and motivation boost, honestly
Author's note: i apologise for this absolute mess of a chapter, so many things happened while writing it and i know it is all over the place!! i will, of course, try to improve my writing in the future chapters (fingers crossed). did not proof read this one, oops. i'll make a masterlist soon... once i figure out how to do that. in the meantime, enjoy whatever this is (have i mentioned english isn't my first language, pls don't hate, i am fully aware of how bad and messy this is)
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Chapter I. The Breach
Word Count: 3.7k
Chapter summary: Emotionally constipated decomissioned pilot (aka you) gets shoved back into a giant robot, pretends she is totally fine (she is not) and meets a potential co-pilot she absolutely does not want in her head. Hange is a manic scientist and Erwin a master manipulator. Since when were kids allowed to pilot robotic killing machines? No one knows.
AKA: People lying about being "fine" while fighting giant aliens.
TFTH Masterlist. Chapter I. Chapter II.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
We always assumed aliens would come from some faraway planet, not the depths of the Pacific Ocean. Ten thousand meters below the ocean’s surface, in the seam of two tectonic plates, a portal between dimensions opened. The breach.
You were eleven when the first Kaiju made land in Shiganshina. The trespasser. By the time jets, tanks and missiles took it down, six days and thirty-five miles later, three cities were destroyed. Tens of thousands of lives were lost. Cities were left barren due to the toxic agent in the blood of the kaiju. Kaiju blue. We mourned our dead, memorialised the attack and moved on.
And then, only six months later, the second attack hit Karanes. And then the third one hit Ragako. And then the fourth. And then we learned this was not going to stop. This was just the beginning.
We needed a new weapon. The world came together, pooling its resources and throwing aside old rivalries for the sake of the greater good. To fight monsters, we created monsters of our own. The Jaeger program was born.
There are things you can't fight, acts of God. You see a hurricane coming, you have to get out of the way. But when you're in a Jaeger, suddenly, you can fight the hurricane. You can win.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
“What.” The request was cruel, unbelievable and arrogant. Marshal Smith was many things, but you never took him for a narcissist.
You kept low for three years, two months and twenty-one days. You couldn’t keep a job, your apartment was a disaster and your sleep schedule was terrible, but you were alive. You were alive and far away from confining metal walls and neural handshakes, and that’s all that mattered. That’s what you kept telling yourself.
“Trust me, Ranger, I’m aware of how unexpected this is. I’m not particularly fond of this decision either.” Right. You almost laughed. You give a man an inch and he feels entitled to a mile. Of course Erwin Smith, Marshal of the Pan Pacific Defense Corps, came knocking on your door begging you to go back and face what had almost killed you.
“Yes, this is unexpected. And foolish. And selfish. And laughable.” You swallowed the rest. You were as sad as you were angry.
You held immense respect for Erwin. After all, the man had practically taken care of you for over six years inside the program. And still, to him you were nothing more than a soldier. “And don’t call me that. I quit. I was decommissioned. You should know that.”
“You are angry.” the man noted. Angry was too small a word. Three years ago you lost everything. You lost her. Your heart died the day the Colossal tore its way out of the Breach. The day Shiganshina fell. It stopped in your chest, and not just metaphorically. You waited over three years for the next beat. It never came. You still dream about it. You still feel it, her thoughts in the drift before they vanished. You were in the drift when it happened, when she -
“And I understand. Trust me, I understand it more than anyone.” And he did. That was the worst part. He knows exactly what it feels like to live with a part of your soul carved out, with a heart that beats for no one and lungs that breathe in the air that someone else should be breathing instead. He knows what it’s like to dream of the battlefield, of the weight of the world on your shoulders and the relentless ache. And he still asks you to return.
“So you should understand why I refuse to return.” His expression didn’t change. His eyes were empty. They always were. But something flickered in them, regret. You can’t help but wonder if this hurt him as much as it hurt you. If he really thought his childish idea of winning this war was worth losing you.
Television static cut through the room. A news reporter spoke up. You couldn’t help but look. The scenes were brutal. A Category IV Kaiju, the news lady called it Mutavore, broke through Wall Rose as if it was nothing more than a piece of wet paper. Wall Rose fell in under three minutes. You didn’t flinch.
You weren’t surprised. Wall Rose was a stupid anti-kaiju wall project organised by even stupider people. As if a bit of concrete could ever stop the massive monster. People tried to run, tiny frantic specks against something too large to comprehend, but there was no point. You can’t run from a hurricane, and you certainly can’t fight it.
You already knew how this ended. Your point was proven. The camera shook violently and the Kaiju roared. But then the sky darkened.
Seventy-five meters of pure steel fell from the sky and slammed into the Kaiju.
Eden Assassin.
You knew the Jaeger too well, having fought alongside it.
You turned the TV off before the impact finished echoing. Silence. Erwin didn’t move. He didn’t need to.
You stared at the black screen, your reflection smaller than you remembered, knowing exactly what would happen. Knowing Erwin has you exactly where he wanted you. Where he needs you.
You looked at him.
His eyes were cold. His boots crossed the floor, slow and deliberate. He stopped just close enough for you to feel his presence, not close enough to touch.
He spoke up and you knew that tone too well. You were, however, never on the receiving end of it. Never the one being persuaded, manipulated. But there’s a first for everything. He didn’t blink as he spoke. “Haven’t you heard, Ranger? The world is coming to an end.” His voice was calm, almost gentle.
“So where would you rather die?”
A beat.
“Here,”
Another.
“or in a Jaeger?”
He wasn’t threatening you. He was offering you mercy. A purpose. And that was worse.
They say that once you step into a Jaeger, once you fight what should never be fought, you never go back. That you never forget the power, the rush. No matter the pain, you cling on to the slightest bit of control. And you know they’re right.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The helicopter was loud, but the commanding voice of Marshal Smith was even louder. “The Trost Shatterdome is the only one that remains. And considering the lack of funding, there’s only three active Jaegers.” You debated telling him that you still kept up with all the Pan Pacific Defense Corps news. Not because you wanted to, but because you couldn’t help it. “There’s a Mark-5 Jaeger in there. It was made from salvaged parts of an old Mark-3. You may know it.” You refused to give him a reaction. “It’s the strongest and fastest Jaeger in the fleet. It needs a pilot.”
You knew what he was asking and you knew you were going to say yes. “Does it come with a name as pretentious as that description?”
For the first time since you reunited, he looked away. Your heart felt heavy.
“You didn’t change it.” It wasn’t a question.
“It didn’t feel right.” He looked at you and you saw through the facade, this time his eyes showed more emotion than you thought was humanly possible. And for the first time in three years, two months and twenty-one days, you missed him.
You let out a sigh and looked at the Shatterdome you were approaching. You forgot how utterly massive it was. Erwin ignored your silent wish of peace and kept talking “We’ve got some new recruits. Not a lot, the funding doesn’t allow it, but enough. They’re very keen on meeting you. I also seem to think they’d gain a lot by learning from you.”
Well, you weren’t too keen on training Erwin’s sacrificial lambs.
“Why would they want to meet me, of all people?” You regretted asking the question as soon as you said it. You didn’t want him to talk about it.
“You know why.” You couldn’t help but want to punch that arrogant look off of his face. Of course Erwin would boast for achievements that weren’t his own. “Not everyone can do it. No one could do it. No one could do it for that long. You solo piloted fo-”
“Don’t.” You were never the one to beg, but this time you came pretty close. “Don’t talk about that.”
The man sighed. A feeling of uneasiness crept in as you approached the Shatterdome. You knew what happens to Jaeger pilots. You saw it happen firsthand. Yet you missed being useful. Being needed. A distraction could do you good, and if you die… when you die, you’ll die in glory. You’ll die a hero. A selfish hero, for you have selfishly longed for death for three years.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
It was raining. The helicopter blades hadn’t fully slowed when you stepped out. A coat too big was wrapped around you and the world stopped. The all too familiar metal dome loomed ahead. Too tall. Larger than you remember. Or maybe you were smaller now.
If you had been anyone else, you would have found it terrifying You would cower in fear. For a moment, the world narrowed to the sound of rain striking metal.
“You alright, Ranger?” The blonde man inquired with a steady voice.
You inhaled. The air smelt like salt and oil and something faintly electrical. “I-”
“Good to have you back, Striker!” Yelled a brunette J-Tech pushing a cart of Jaeger pieces. You watched him pass by. You didn’t know him. You’re sure you never met him. Nevertheless, he knew you.
“Yes. I’m fine.” You marched towards the Shatterdome not looking back. Erwin’s heavy footsteps followed.
“I’m glad to hear that. I’ll need you up early tomorrow, just some light training to get back on your feet.” As the man explained your schedule, you easily fell back into the old routine. A loyal soldier. “You’re scheduled for a drift compatibility test with one of my older recruits. As of right now, our goal is to get you into a Jaeger as soon as possible.”
You were right back in your element as soon as the steel Shatterdome’s door slid open. The sound didn’t change, heavy mechanical groans.
“Roger that, Marshal.” Eyes were on you. Surprised technicians and scientists paused mid-sentence. Cadets straightened. Someone dropped a tool. They were staring. Not at you, but at what you represented.
The pilot who survived when they shouldn’t have, a living miracle. They must have thought you too weak, too hurt, to step back into a Jaeger. You kept walking, boots echoing and shoulders squared. Let them look. Let them decide whether you were a miracle or a mistake. You already knew which one you felt like, never more ready than now to prove them wrong.
As you took it all in, you noticed Erwin talking to a dark haired man. Short. Still. Composed.
You glances met briefly. His grey eyes challenged you, not impressed. You held his stare for half a second longer than necessary. He didn’t look away. You did.
You didn’t care what he thought of you. You didn’t care what anyone here thought of you. Erwin dismissed the man off with a stack of papers, the man walked past you without a word. His shoulder nearly brushed yours, not by accident. Deliberate.
“I would like to see her, Erwin.” you said, refusing to turn. You could still feel it behind you. His intention hadn’t shifted.
“And you shall.” answered Erwin. As you walked, you couldn’t help but stare at the Mark-4 Jaeger. He was a beauty. It was the only Jaeger that could be piloted by three rangers. “The triplets died in the attack on Echrmich a month ago. Thankfully, there were no problems with fixing the Attack Typhoon. The equipment was upgraded, it’s even stronger now. Its new pilots are more than ready for it. With their great drift compatibility and new Jaeger weaponry, they’ll be a great asset in taking down the Kaiju. As devastating the Echrmich loss is, it opened up new opportunities.” You wondered how much it hurt him to speak of human life like that.
You noticed a blonde man looking at you as you passed by War Hammer, a tank of a Jaeger, a Mark-1 and still fighting as good as new. You immediately recognised the man, Miche. His partner, Nanaba, stood beside him. They stood still but you noticed the slight nod of their heads. A sign of understanding. After all, you had fought alongside them too.
You made it to the end of the Shatterdome platform.
And there she was. Tall. Strong. Completely rebuilt. Striker Eureka.
She was beautiful. Seventy-six metres of steel and resurrection. Floodlights traced her frame, every reinforced plate and rebuilt joint. Complete. Whole.
No rupture in the Conn-Pod.
You stepped closer than you meant to, your reflection warped and small across the polished armour. She looked untouched. But you weren’t.
“It’s the only Mark-5 left. Reinforced, it has all the new technology and weaponry, Hange will give you a more detailed explanation later, I’m sure.” Erwin explained.
You didn’t answer, your hand hovered near the railing. You remembered what it felt like, the neural handshake, the drift, the moment when metal stopped being a machine and became an extension of you. You remembered the silence when it all went wrong.
“She needs two pilots.” There it was. You swallowed. Striker stood motionless and patient. Waiting. You wondered if she remembered you, if machines could.
“Now, now. You’ll have plenty of time to ogle tomorrow.” Erwin chuckled. “Make your way down to the laboratory, Hange wants to see you. They will lead you to your quarters after.”
“Yes, sir.” You took a step to leave, but then you heard him call your name.
“Get some rest. Proper rest.” The man sighed, “Knowing my pilots are in good shape makes my job a lot easier.” You knew he didn’t care about rangers that much. Didn’t care about other rangers. It was an order, but an order full of care.
You almost laughed, “Don’t worry about me, Erwin.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The elevator ride to the laboratory floor was quick, but Hange was even quicker. Their arms had wrapped around you as soon as the door slid open.
“Oh Striker! I missed you!” They whined, “Other pilots are so boring! They never ask me about any of my groundbreaking research!”
“Hange, let the woman breathe!” a brunette man left his work on what you had presumed was a piece of a Kaiju brain to try and drag Hange away from you. Try. He wasn’t successful. He wasn’t wrong, their hug was suffocating, but you felt safe. Hange felt like a breath of fresh air, reminding you of your life before the accident. Suddenly, you felt guilty. They’ve tried reaching out to you. They’ve called you before you changed your number, sent you letters before you moved. You were scared they’d be mad, blame you for the loss of your mutual friend. You didn’t want to face them, to face what you had before it all went wrong. To face what you had lost. Instead, they looked like you had come home. And in a way, you did.
Realising they’ve never despised you, never blamed you, but missed you. It made you feel guilty. Guilty for never replying. For cutting them off. Letting them grieve alone.
It hit you all at once. You’ve all lost her. You didn’t have to go through that alone, you chose to. You couldn’t help but wonder who you’d now be, had you accepted them and their help.
“I… I’m sorry, really. I missed you too. I wish I had done something, reached out…” you shamefully muttered, hoping they’d forgive you.
“Oh nonsense! It’s already done, it’s in the past. Can’t do nothing now about it, can we? It just means we get to make up for lost time now! You get to listen to me ramble about my Kaiju experiments and give me your juice boxes from the cafeteria!” their voice full of enthusiasm. They pulled away from the hug, firmly held your shoulders and their brown eyes met yours “It’s okay, Striker… We all grieve differently, what matters is we’re here now, together. And we get to fight for what is right. For humanity.”
Their voice softened. “She would be happy you came back.” That almost broke you. They smiled softly. You haven’t heard their warm voice in three years. And the fault was your own. Hearing them say such sweet words, after all this time, almost brought tears to your eyes.
“Thank you… Hange” you answered, your voice full of gratitude, hugging them even tighter and hiding your face in their neck. They chuckled, mumbling something about you never being this affectionate, but you paid them no mind. And for the first time in a while, you felt safe.
“Uh, well. I hate interrupting the moment but… I feel like I should introduce myself…” the guy from before stuttered, looking quite awkward just standing there.
“Right… I’m-” you started.
He said your name before you got to answer. “I know! Oh, sorry that was rude of me. I apologise. It’s just… you’re kind of a legend around here. It’s impossible not to know you…” if it had been anyone else you would have found them weird and probably punched them, but the guy was oddly sweet. Also, Hange seemed to trust him, and you trusted Hange with your life, so you figured he was a good guy. “Sorry, again. I’m Moblit. Hange’s-”
“Laboratory buddy!” Hange interrupted. “He keeps me company, listens to me talk and brings me snacks! He is sweet, I’m sure you’ll be great friends, Striker. The head chef loves him! Which means he gets more apple pies if he asks nicely. Oh! You know how much I love apple pie…” Hange rambled on.
“Oh… well, I’m their assistant. It is not nearly as glamorous and simple as they describe it” Moblit chuckled at Hange’s interruption, clearly used to their eccentric behaviour. You almost found it endearing.
As they bickered, you looked around the laboratory, taking notice of all the Kaiju organs and blood. “Seems like you’ve got lots of work here…” you observed.
Moblit answered, his voice filled with dread “Yes, it has been really keeping us up late recently… Marshal wants answers, fast. The government is cutting finances but the Kaiju keep coming and coming… their numbers seem to be increasing too. If we’re right, in a month multiple Kaiju would be coming out of The Breach… We need to figure out how they work, find a way to close The Breach and stop them…”
Hange agreed “It is hard, but someone must do it. If it means finally stopping this war… I’ll gladly lose a few hours of sleep.” They tried joking, but their tone was serious. More serious than you’ve ever heard them before. “Now, our pilots shouldn’t be losing sleep! You’re on the front lines, facing danger head on. You need all the beauty sleep you can get. Come on, I’ll walk you to your room, Moblit can work on this alone for a minute.” Their mood changed, sounding happier. You knew them well enough to know they’re faking it, but you chose to stay quiet. After all, you were faking it too. Everyone was. But if living on stolen time and pretending means you get to laugh with your friends and see them smile when you bring them stolen juice boxes, then pretend you shall.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The hallway was narrow. Machinery faintly hummed in the distance.
You barely registered the footsteps before something solid collided with your shoulder. Hard. If you had not been a trained soldier, you’d surely be lying on the floor in pain. Instead, you barely shifted.
The brunette boy blurted out an apology without sparing a glance at you. Hange’s voice echoed down the corridor, yelling the boy’s name. Eren, you think. The boy was already down the hallway, all momentum and fire. You watched him go.
A minute later, two others followed. A girl with onyx hair walked with sharp controlled steps, eyes forward and jaw tight, seemingly muttering insults meant for the rash boy. She didn’t look at you but you could feel her assessing everything in her peripheral vision.
Behind her, a blonde boy slowed. He stepped in front of you. “Ma’am, we are so sorry!” he said quickly, dropping his head. “He never watches where he is going…” He shyly glances up at you, and as he did, his eyes dawned with recognition and widened in surprise. You hated that look. He swiftly hurried after his group of friends.
You watched them go. Too determined. Too young.
“Oh! Don’t mind them. Silly kids running around without a head on their shoulders…” Hange explained “They’re not always like this, so don’t worry. They’re actually one of our best cadets, and if I remember correctly, Attack Typhoon’s newest pilots. Hah! They must be excited! Even though… I can’t imagine young teenagers piloting-” Hange stopped themselves. You knew why. It was cruel. Kids fighting in a war that wasn’t theirs. You were their age when you first stepped into a Jaeger…
“Anyway! This is your room.” Hange smacked the metal doors. “It’s got everything you could wish for… A bed, great pillows, warm water… and, uh… a nice quiet neighbour!” they pointed at the door across yours. “Levi won’t bother you. Well, I’m down in the labs most of the time. Call me if you need me” they winked and went back down the hallway.
The lights flickered.
You typed in your code, 2017, and the doors slid open.
You wasted no time, immediately flopping onto your bunk bed. You sighed and your eyes drifted to the empty bed above you, reserved for your co-pilot. Your throat tightened.
You immediately stopped that train of thought. You turned onto your side, facing the wall and burying your head into the pillow. You were not ready. Not ready to let someone into your head. Not ready to feel another heartbeat layered over yours.
The drift was intimate. And intimacy had already killed you once.
The lights hummed softly overhead. Tomorrow you would step into a Jaeger again, and once you do, there is no going back.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Author's note: so i started this fic excited to write about levi's and reader's dynamic but now i'm even more excited to explore the dynamic between erwin and reader. he is giving big brother energy while also carrying the weight of so many lives. i know levi barely pops up in this chapter, but chill, this is just the prologue. he'll be back to steal hearts very soon i promise
would you prefer me using "Y/N" throughout the fic or should i stick to using nicknames (such as pilot, ranger, your jaeger name xx) and simply imply when other characters have said your name (without having to use Y/N)
this author has survived the university finals trenches and emerged victorious. i have passed all my finals (yes, including statistics!!!) in celebration of not having to calculate standard deviation ever again (until next semester but shush) this author shall be locking in and finishing the first chapter.
you may expect it in the next few days. in an ideal world? on tuesday. in this world? no one truly knows.
until then, please picture this author whimsically staring out the window while sipping tea (and also getting black out drunk to celebrate).
i decided to start writing the fanfic in the middle the finals month, because i love chaos and why not. idk exactly when the chapter will be out (i've got about half of it written, and it still needs some serious editing) and i can guarantee you the updates will be slowwww but i promise to try my best. i've got a really really rought draft of the story so that's something.
i can also promise you that the fanfic will be finished (sometime in the future)! i don't abandon my projects. and also it's one of my 2026 new years resolutions, so i have no choice but to do it lol
lots of love <3 and i hope everyone is having a better day than i am xx
prguitarman
theartofmadeline
janainaart
titsay
stormborns
germansingergirl
baratheonpilled
dededos
romaincrisis
yousharknotpass
izzy806
